Last night I found myself plugged in to Pixar Studios' dream machine. (That must be what it was!) First, I dreamt that my 13-year-old second cousin was a 7-year-old, world-famous gymnast. She had bobbed black hair, Chinese eyes, white skin, and wore a red leotard. She travelled alone, performing her non-stop-back-flip to huge crowds around the globe. Then I dreamt that my Mum’s tiny soft-toy dog, Bobby, was running to my house to deliver a present. But in the dream, his name was Robby!
I think the key to the dream machine is Tesco’s Moroccan-style hummus. It’s so moreish! I ate the whole tub before going to bed.
Today, I’ve felt quite nauseous.